


i'm your man

by sifu_hotdamn



Series: zukka romcom one-shots [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Drag AU, Drag king!Sokka, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Racism, M/M, Stand-Up Comedian!Zuko, Trans Sokka (Avatar), Trans Zuko (Avatar), but it's very self-contained and the rest of this is big exuberant queer joy, inspired by real life events, non-zukka relationships are background, warnings for zuko's standup set:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28682736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifu_hotdamn/pseuds/sifu_hotdamn
Summary: He’s looking around the dressing room again for the first time since Sokka started talking to him, and notices that everyone else is wearing much less clothing than he is.Oh,fuck,did Ty Lee sign him up to do stand-up at one ofthoseshows?Zuko inadvertently winds up doing stand-up at a drag club variety night. One of the drag kings takes an interest.
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Haru/Jet (Avatar), Mai/Ty Lee (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: zukka romcom one-shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102376
Comments: 18
Kudos: 138





	i'm your man

**Author's Note:**

> y'know when you write something exuberantly delightfully queer to cheer yourself up? that's what this is.  
> content warnings as noted in tags apply to Zuko's stand-up set. if you'd prefer to skip that, it starts with the section beginning “So, something you may not know about me,” and is done by the section that starts, "Zuko flops down on a barstool, feeling like he just ran a marathon."  
> this is based on something that actually happened to [disabledzuko,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/disabledzuko/pseuds/disabledzuko) who also wrote Zuko's standup set & beta'd. thank you for always replacing my n-dashes and reminding me to use people's names for clarity <3  
> additional thanks are due to my bronski beta & drag consultant, [homophobicazula.](https://homophobicazula.tumblr.com)  
> the [setlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6yA4HOvSpQ4fKZCfXlN9NU?si=3mzosqPLSsuS0MQzcGVAMQ) (w additional bonus vibes after) should line up, if you start it when you start reading! not to be a Fruit about it, but it will definitely augment the experience.  
> title is from the eponymous Wham! song.  
> also, for reference, character pronouns in this fic where deviating from canon are as follows (loosely, offstage || onstage, if different):  
> Mai (she/they); Sokka (he/they || he/him); Haru (he/him || she/her); Aang (any || she/her); Jet (they/he || they/them); Toph (they/them); Teo (they/them)

“...and there they are, waiting to follow me home,” Zuko concludes. He’s standing in front of Mai in their living room.

“Brava,” they say, drily. 

(Her face had barely moved through his entire practice set, but Zuko has known her for long enough to not take that personally.)

“Y’know,” Ty Lee says, bouncing in from the kitchen, “you really won’t get any better just bouncing slightly tweaked jokes off the two of us. One of the little places we perform is having a variety night soon! I’ll sign you up.”

“Wait -” Zuko attempts to interrupt, but Ty Lee is already typing earnestly into her phone, a bubblegum pink – clad force of nature. 

(He considers the idea. It probably would be better to run the set in front of a crowd, and he  _ has _ been optimizing it for months now.)

“Ugh, fine, I guess.”

“Done!”

Zuko sighs. “So when is it?”

“Friday after next! I’ll text you the details.”

He’s already dreading it.

* * *

Sokka is  _ incredibly _ excited for tonight’s performance. He’s perched in front of a mirror in the backstage dressing room of Kyoshi Island, the local drag bar, putting the finishing touches on his winged eyeliner while a mostly-dressed Haru flounces around irritably.

“You good?” 

Haru - or, rather, Eartha, now that her lipstick’s on - raises her drawn-on eyebrows even higher. “I can’t find my clip-ons, Sokka! I may as well walk out there naked.”

“Alright, don’t get your panties in a bunch, Eartha. I’ll help you look.” He kneels down to check under the table, quickly spotting the massive rhinestone clusters. “Here ya go,” he says, turning to see that she’s already busy bothering a newcomer.

“Well, you’re a solemn little fruit, aren’t ya, hon?” She’s gone full southern belle. She snatches the earrings back from Sokka with a “thanks, doll,” and a kiss on the cheek.

The new guy - dressed in an impeccable suit - looks deeply uncomfortable.

“Hey, I’m Sokka, he/they usually, just he like this.” The guy nods. Sokka continues: “I’m a king, too. You want a hand with your eyeliner? We don’t have to go all-out like Eartha, but it helps you not get too washed-out looking onstage.”

“Uh, sure? Just my right eye, though,” and shrugs apologetically, gesturing to a massive, painful-looking scar that covers the left side of his face.

“No worries, baby, whatever you’re comfortable with.” Sokka guides him into a chair and starts carefully tracing liner onto his eyelid. “Man, that’s some  _ really _ sneaky velcro. Must’ve cost a fortune.”

* * *

Zuko’s not sure why an absurdly attractive person wearing nothing but skin-tight pants and a bowtie is straddling his lap and holding his face still, but he can’t quite bring himself to mind, especially after that  _ ‘baby.’ _

(He’s eye-level with a pair of glittery black pasties, stuck onto Sokka’s chest above a pair of wide, crescent-shaped scars that mirror Zuko’s own. Zuko’s holding his breath so hard that he might pass out.

It’d probably be for the best.)

“There,” Sokka says, loosening his grip on Zuko’s face to nudge his gaze towards the mirror. “You’re perfect.”

(Did Zuko hit his head on the door on the way in? Is he dreaming?)

“...uh, thanks? You look...nice, too.” Zuko mentally kicks himself.

“Thanks, hon.” Sokka has big, dramatic wings drawn on over his sparkly red eyeshadow, and they crinkle when he smiles. “Let me guess - first time jitters?”

“Yeah, how’d you know? The...everything about me?”

Sokka  _ snorts _ .

(Zuko is a  _ goner. _ ) 

“Yeah, something like that. I won’t tell you not to worry, but the Kyoshi crowd is a nice bunch. They’ll never boo ya, even if you do  _ terribly _ \- and trust me, I’d know.” He gives Zuko’s hair a sweet little ruffle, and Zuko barely controls his urge to butt up into the contact like a needy cat. “You’ll be fine, promise.”

* * *

“...thanks,” the new guy says, a bit breathlessly, and  _ damn, _ he’s cute.

“Say, I don’t think I caught your name? I keep calling you ‘new guy’ in my head, but it’s starting to feel rude.” New guy chuckles at that.

“Ah, sorry, must’ve forgotten.” He looks briefly panicked. “To tell you! Not my name. I didn’t forget my name. I’m Zuko. He/him, by the way.”

“Zuko.” Sokka lets the name roll around his mouth a bit, and the man in question flushes crimson. “Pretty name. Suits you.” He winks. “Mind if I dance up to you later?”

Zuko nods. “Oh - uh - I don’t mind. Go for it. Yeah.”

(He always forgets how damn flirty he gets when he’s warming up for a show. Once the nipple pasties are on, his self-restraint is off.

But hey, Zuko seems to be enjoying the attention, even if he is as red as his duck-patterned tie.)

Unfortunately, Suki chooses that moment to barge over, thwapping him on the head with a rolled paper cue sheet.

“C’mon, Sokka, don’t scare the baby. You’re doing your new Panic! set tonight, right?”

“Actually, Sukes, I think I’ll do the Wham! song. You know the one.”

Suki huffs bemusedly. “Got it, the  _ Sokka has a new crush  _ special.”

* * *

The terrifying person in full Cantonese opera makeup - who’s gotta be Suki, the bar’s owner - turns to Zuko. “And you’re Zuko, right? Just need a mic and no flashing lights during your set, per Ty Lee?” She checks her clipboard. “Huh, no music. That’s bold.”

(Is it?)

“...uh, yeah, that’s right.” He clears his throat nervously. 

“Okay - just grab the mic from the lit-up stand before you go on. You’re on after Jet.” Suki glances down at her watch. “ _ Shit, _ we’re starting in five. Eartha! Quit fluffing your wig and get ready to dance!”

Eartha - which must be the name of the curvaceous, glam drag queen who’d greeted Zuko when he’d arrived - sighs melodramatically and makes her way to the stage entrance, the tulle of her hi-lo cut prom-style dress bouncing in time with her enormous, coiffed blonde wig as she walks.

“You’re gonna want to see this,” Sokka says, catching Zuko off-guard enough that he jumps. “She always puts on a  _ killer _ show.”

Sokka shrugs on a glittery red tailcoat and takes Zuko's hand. Zuko follows him across the room, unsure what the hell else he’d do at this point. 

(He’s looking around the dressing room again for the first time since Sokka started talking to him, and notices that everyone else is wearing  _ much _ less clothing than he is. Jet, a performer he recognizes from some of Ty Lee’s more...adventurous showcase nights, is in a ‘top’ that’s just draping strands of black beads, skin-tone hot pants, and thigh-high lace-up stilettos.

Oh,  _ fuck _ , did Ty Lee sign him up to do  _ stand-up _ at one of  _ those  _ shows?)

Mai gives him a curious head-tilt as he passes their bench. He nods tensely, but doesn’t feel like letting go of Sokka’s hand.

* * *

“Welcome to KYOSHI ISLAND VARIETY NIGHT!” Suki roars from the stage, making chills run up Sokka’s spine. “We’ve got quite the line-up for you all tonight...but don’t let me get ahead of myself. Remember: you may not touch the performers. You may not request that they take off their clothes. You may hoot, holler, and whistle with aplomb.”

Zuko seems to have gone...pale next to him, but that’s probably just the lighting.

“Without further ado, I give you...EARTHA QUAKE!”

The crowd falls silent as the opening bars of ‘Primadonna’ filter out through the speakers. Eartha practically floats onto the stage, lip-syncing perfectly.

And then the bass drops, shaking the floor so hard it rattles, and she goes  _ wild. _

(Sokka’s never been  _ that _ interested in classical drag, but damn, Eartha’s sets are art, plain and simple.)

He looks over at Zuko, who’s watching with some combination of nervousness and amazement. “She’s pretty great, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Eartha pulls off a particularly horny bit of floorwork flawlessly, and Sokka wolf-whistles in appreciation. “So, uh, are all the acts like this?”

“Oh, we wish,” Sokka says, chuckling. “Technically, you don’t have to have a full act, so a lot of us rookies use Variety Night to try out fresh material, or do something a bit more...experimental? But  _ Eartha _ tends to pull out all the stops. I’d be annoyed if she wasn’t this good.”

“Huh, okay,” Zuko says, seemingly lost in thought.

He’s caught off-guard by an elbow bump in his other side. “Hey, Sokka,” Arc Aangel says, smiling.

“Hey, Twinkletoes! Lookin’ good. You’re on next, right?”

* * *

So it’s definitely too late for him to go talk to Suki about taking him off the roster, huh.

(The pure absurdity of the situation has forced him past the point of overwhelming anxiety, in favor of a strange, floaty calm.

_ This might as well happen, _ he thinks.)

The ethereal newcomer next to Sokka chirps, “Yep!,” bringing Zuko back down to earth. She’s in a sheer pink chiffon romper with cap sleeves and ruffled trim. It looks more like fancy pajamas than Eartha’s thrift-store prom chic. Her makeup’s gentler, too, but still overemphasized, with bright white liner, glittery silver eyeshadow, cartoonish white ‘freckles’, and shimmery pink lip gloss standing out starkly against her dark skin. She’s foregone a wig, too, opting instead for a pastel blue beanie.

She handsprings onstage to the opening cowbells as Suki announces her act. She foregoes lip syncing for much of the song, favoring fluidly powerful, gymnastic choreography.

Zuko openly gapes as she pushes up into a headstand and kicks her legs out to start spinning rapidly on her head.

( _ I’m a bitch, I’m a boss, I’m a bitch and a boss and I shine like gloss, _ the chorus pulses, and Zuko’s inclined to agree.)

* * *

“Pretty amazing, right?” Sokka nudges Zuko and grins. He’s clearly absolutely floored. “Angel came up in Atlanta drag clubs. Her style’s super kickass, but damn, you still couldn’t pay me to do all that training. I didn’t get into drag for the crossfit regimen.”

As the song fades, Angel pops up out of the headspin and straight into a  _ terrifying _ full split. She blows big, overacted kisses at Katara, who’s blushing in her front-row seat. 

“Yeah,” Zuko replies absently, “sure looks like a lot of work.”

The handle of a familiar hooked sword bumps Sokka in the kidney, tearing him away from his intent observation of Zuko’s face.

“Hey, Jet,” he sighs. “You doin’ your standard horny-murder shtick, then?”

Jet’s crimson-painted lips quirk up in a smirk. There’s a lipstick line painted on to look like a trickle of blood coming from the right side of their mouth. 

It’s gross, but that’s Jet’s brand. “Yeah. And?”

(Sokka doesn’t really have a follow-up. He’ll seriously never understand their set’s appeal, but even his  _ sister _ had gotten into it at one point.

Quietly, selfishly, he hopes Zuko won’t.)

The thudding, industrial beats of Jet’s music start in, and they stalk loudly onstage in their enormous boots, the stupid black bead drape they’re wearing in lieu of a shirt clacking as they go.

* * *

Zuko  _ wishes _ he wasn’t into Jet’s horny-murder shtick.

(At the last event that Ty Lee had dragged him to, they'd even asked him pre-act if he’d sub onstage for part of it. He’d agreed, trying to hide his eagerness, and even the memory of cool metal prop swords against his throat makes him blush.)

Sokka groans. “Oh  _ no, _ you  _ are _ into this.”

Zuko’s blush intensifies. “No! No. Definitely not,” he stammers. 

Jet reaches off the other side of the stage with their swords, dragging Eartha back out. To the audience’s delight, she practically swoons to her knees, squeezing Jet’s ass a  _ bit _ harder than the average acting partner might and pulling them, hips-first, towards her open mouth.

Jet shoves her to the ground with slightly too much force to really seem playful, but that is, after all, their signature. Eartha goes down melodramatically, one forearm raised against her wig in mock-scandal.

For a split second, Jet’s smirking persona cracks, and they give her an amused little smile. They tap her nose teasingly with the end of one sword, and then resume the act, miming crushing one of their terrifying heels into her junk and twisting. 

(Somehow, the  _ boop _ is even more uncomfortably intimate than the mimed blowjob or the ball-busting.

Zuko wonders when they started dating.)

The bass starts to fade out, and Zuko remembers that he’s supposed to  _ follow _ that, somehow. 

He takes a deep breath, and tries to channel the giddy confidence swirling around the room.

* * *

“So, something you may not know about me,” Zuko says, “is that I’m not a drag performer.”

He pecks Sokka on the cheek, snags a mic, and darts onstage.

Sokka has  _ no clue  _ what’s going on. The crowd also seems a bit thrown by this silent, suited man, standing in the middle of the stage and holding the mic with both hands.

“So this is the suit I wore to my dad’s funeral,” Zuko opens, and is met with more confused silence. “And, by the end of this set, I hope you find that as funny as I do.

“So I grew up in Bloomington, Illinois -'' Some enthusiastic Bloomingtonian in the audience cheers, and Zuko makes a skeptical expression, shaking his head minutely. “Anyways. My dad owned this sporting goods store there. Now, being gay and from a small town is pretty unfortunate, but luckily enough, I was also Asian and trans, so the bullies didn’t focus on the gay part too much.”

He pauses to smile shyly at the audience, and they reward him with a nervous chuckle.

Sokka doesn’t know who this guy is, or how the hell he wound up doing stand-up at a drag show, but he thinks he might be in love.

“You know what it’s like having a hard time in high school,” Zuko continues. “Well, I mean -” and here he points at an audience member Sokka can’t see - “ _ you _ definitely know what it’s like. So every day after school, I would walk -” and here he does a goofy little shuffling walk towards Sokka, mic held in a limp-wristed hand - “to the sporting goods store, and the bullies would walk -” he turns, shifts posture to a sort of creeping lurk, and walks in the other direction - “after me. There wasn’t much to do in Bloomington, so following the weird kid home after school was basically an extracurricular activity. I think one of the bullies got into Harvard on that.”

He pauses. The audience, while still a bit lost, is warming up to him, and Sokka barks out a laugh, too. Zuko glances over at him and grins lopsidedly. 

(Sokka’s heart does a little backflip in his chest.)

“I’m kidding. He got into Harvard on a legacy.”

* * *

Zuko’s amazed this is going so well, but he rolls with the new momentum.

“So, anyways, the bullies would follow me until I got to my dad’s sporting goods store, where I worked after school, and just...watch me. And my dad would be there, saying things like, ‘Zuko! Go rearrange the balls in the basket. Zuko! Go polish the hockey sticks. Zuko! Go suck your friend’s dick on the shop floor.’” 

He pauses. “Alright, that one was an exaggeration.

“I sucked his dick in the employee bathroom.” 

The audience laughs. He can hear Sokka’s incredibly distinctive snort from the wings, and  _ shit, _ it feels like sunshine beamed straight into his chest.

“There’s really no easy way to say to your dad, ‘Hey, can you please stop asking me to interact with phallic objects in front of the kids from school?’ Mostly because I don’t know the Chinese word for phallic. But I did ask him, ‘Dad, can you tell those kids to leave the store? They’re flushing my head down the toilet at school.’

“And y’know what he said?” He shifts to a gruff register, which has gotten easier to do for this bit the longer he’s been on T. “He said, ‘Zuko. It’s bad business to tell customers to leave. They haven’t broken store policy. And besides, you might learn something from one of them - I hear his dad went to Harvard!’

“So I was like, fine. If my dad won’t help me, I’ll just have to do this myself. So the next time these kids follow me into the store and sit around taking pictures of me polishing hockey sticks on their iPhone 4s, I walk over to the equipment section, I pick up a baseball bat, and I say, ‘Leave.’”

The crowd’s palpably tense.

Zuko turns on his heel, raises his voice to a nasally pitch, and mimics the reply: “‘Or what?’”

He returns to his previous pose. “‘Or I’ll hit you.’” He turns back to the audience, half-smiling. 

“Okay, so keep in mind that this was an open, public sporting goods store on a Wednesday afternoon. Like, there were other customers who were just minding their business, when the employee who just helped them locate the tennis section challenged another customer to a duel. And, again, this was in Bloomington, Illinois, where two teenagers throwing hands in public is the cultural equivalent of the Superbowl. A crowd of them gathered around us, transfixed, waiting to see how this would go down.

“So the guy’s, like -” he shifts - “‘Are you crazy?’

“And I’m like -” he dons his most feral grin, and nods slowly - “‘Yeah.’”

* * *

Sokka’s a bit concerned by the direction this story’s taking, admittedly, but whatever it was, Zuko seems to have made it to adulthood, right?

And, besides, he’s an absolutely  _ radiant _ performer, fuck, and every time Sokka laughs a little too loudly, he glances over with that stupid, gorgeous little grin on his face. 

Sokka’s gone from adoring it to wanting to wipe it off by force.

(He’s really gonna have to pull out all the stops later.)

“And then my dad comes over, and it’s clear he’s been watching this whole interaction,” Zuko continues. “The other guy looks over at him like maybe this shop owner is going to stop his son and employee from hitting a customer with a baseball bat.”

He pauses for suspense, and even Sokka holds his breath.  _ Damn,  _ he’s a natural at crowdwork.

“And then my dad hands the other guy a baseball bat, claps me on the shoulder, and says…’Good luck.’”

Sokka - along with the audience - half-laughs in shock. 

(Spirits, that poor kid.)

“Now, I’ll skim this next bit for legal reasons, but suffice it to say that we both wound up pretty messed up. And at the end of it, my dad tells the bullies: ‘You have broken store policy. You must leave.’ 

“So I’m like, ‘Fuck yeah! Finally! They have to leave the store! I won!’” He cracks an enormous smile, but it’s hiding something. The audience is tittering amusedly, but still...nervous.

“And then my dad turns to me and says, ‘You have also broken store policy. You’re fired.’

“So then I leave, and there the rest of the bullies are standing -” he returns to the lurky pose from earlier - “Waiting to follow me home.” He stands back up. “Have a good night, everyone!!”

He grins, breathless, and the audience bursts into surprised laughter. Sokka snorts, and Zuko looks back at him, amazed, before exiting off the other side of the stage.

Shit, right, Sokka’s the act after next. He’s gotta finish getting ready. 

* * *

Zuko flops down on a barstool, feeling like he just ran a marathon. Thankfully, everybody’s too busy getting ready for the next act - “MELEE,” Suki shouts, so that’s Mai and Ty Lee’s combination knife throwing/acrobatics situation - to bother the bartender, so he orders a Moscow mule and tries to breathe.

(Okay, so that’d gone...well?)

The frayed bassline of Mai and Ty Lee’s music rolls in. Zuko holds his drink with both hands, sipping it slowly. It feels vaguely like his strings have been cut.

He thinks back to Sokka, standing in the wings, laughing at  _ his _ dumb jokes, and smiles. He’d forgotten how  _ nice _ having a new crush felt, especially a seemingly reciprocated one. His lungs must’ve been replaced with hot air balloons - everything in his chest feels impossibly expansive and  _ warm _ .

(This whole night might be absurd, he might’ve just done stand-up in the middle of a drag show, but hey, at least a pretty boy thought his dumb jokes about getting hate-crimed were funny.)

The crowd  _ oooh _ s, so he glances back to the stage. Mai’s successfully nailed one of the apples Ty Lee’s juggling with her feet and one of her hands straight into their backboard.

(While it’s not clear that their act has any inherent eroticism, it’s certainly an impressive display of technical skill.)

He catches his reflection in the mirror over the bar, and remembers that he’s wearing eyeliner. He thinks of Sokka, perched in his lap, face intent with focus, and downs half his drink in one gulp.

The rasping dubstep fades out, and Ty Lee cartwheels offstage. 

Suki announces the next act, a  _ Wang Fire _ , and flouncing synths usher on a familiar-looking drag king, sashaying and resplendent, his glittery red tailcoat shimmering in the stage lights. He seems to be scanning the audience, and as soon as he spots Zuko, his whole face lights up. He twirls in place, sweeping the top hat off of his head and holding it to his chest entreatingly.

_ Call me good, call me bad, call me anything you want to, baby, _ he lip-syncs, never breaking eye contact.

Zuko  _ burns _ .

* * *

Wang’s glad he decided to commit to the full costume, even if it makes...less sense now that he’s dancing to Wham! The top hat and cane feel absurdly sophisticated, and they’re fun as hell to dance with.

(He’s gonna head over to Zuko eventually, but first, he should probably let the crowd enjoy a bit of the show from the stage.)

He  _ loves _ the way the music pulses, the way his body moves like he’s part of the beat, the way the crowd shouts for him as he knee-slides to the front of the stage. Katara lets out a loud wolf-whistle, and he tears his pants off and tosses them to her, leaving him in black hotpants.

(In his defense, good tearaway pants are  _ expensive _ , and at least Katara always gives them back.)

He hops off the stage as the second chorus hits, dancing flirtatiously with the adoring crowd as he makes his way across the floor. They’re loving this - to be fair, George Michael always kills - and he’s timing it  _ perfectly, _ and he might actually be glowing with the rush.

He  _ finally _ reaches Zuko, who’s watching him  _ hungrily _ , half-agape, drink forgotten in his hand. Wang grins, moving his hips as sinfully as he can, and sets his cane against the bar, grabbing Zuko by his serious little tie and pulling him forwards.

_ I’ll be your boy, I’ll be your man, I’ll be the one who understands, _ he mouths.

Zuko, blushing furiously but never breaking eye contact, looks like he might just take him up on that offer.

* * *

“Well, looks like we lost ‘em, folks,” Suki says, tearing Zuko out of his reverie. 

(Huh, the song’s over.)

“Have fun, you crazy kids, and remember, always use protection!” She goes on to announce the next act, but he’s too transfixed with the  _ gorgeous _ man in front of him to care.

“Hey,” he breathes, and Wang smiles hard enough to split his face in half.

“Just a sec,” he says, and sits down next to Zuko, flagging down the bartender to request “an appletini, easy on the ‘tini,” whatever the hell that means. He sets down his hat and gloves on the bar. “There. Sokka again. So? What’d ya think?”

Zuko takes a slightly-too-large sip of his drink, gulping nervously. “That was. Uh. Great. You killed it. Wow.”

“I could say the same for you! No wonder your seams looked so neat.” Sokka chuckles, thanking the bartender as they deliver his radioactive-green cocktail. “So how the hell did that happen, anyways?”

“Ty Lee,” Zuko says, sighing.

“Ahh.” Sokka’s nose wrinkles up a little when he  _ really _ smiles, and Zuko wants to kiss the tip of it  _ so badly _ that it’s almost painful not to. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you did an awesome job. Was that really your first time?”

“Yeah, actually.” Zuko wonders if he’s ever going to  _ stop _ blushing, or if his face is just stuck like this now. “And thanks. Wow. That was surreal.”

“You were really smooth up there! Worked the crowd like a pro and everything.”

“Thanks,” Zuko grins wryly. “Y’know, it was smoother sailing than I’d expected, if only because it felt like a charismatic ghost was  _ Ratatouille _ -ing me.”

* * *

Sokka chokes on his drink, and puts up a finger as he coughs his way through it. “Fuck, dude, how are you so damn  _ funny? _ ”

“Trauma and practice, mostly,” Zuko replies, bemused. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

(Sokka checks the stage. Angel’s wrapping up her second set, so Eartha’s on next, and Toph will  _ kill _ him if he misses his cameo in their closing act because he’s busy making out with a cute boy in the bathroom.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun in the meantime.)

“We seem to run in similar circles. I don’t know how we haven’t met before.”

“Y’know, Ty Lee’s been trying to set me up with this drag friend of hers for ages.” Zuko chuckles drily. “Starting to wonder if it was you.”

“Yeah?” Sokka spins on his stool, leaning back on his elbows against the bar. His jacket hangs open like this, and he watches Zuko’s burning gaze meander up his torso, eventually meeting his eyes again. He’s flushed red to his ears. “So tell me - what would you think if it was?”

“Probably that she’s guessed my type better than I thought,” Zuko says, with that soft, lopsided grin again, and there’s an adorable dimple in his right cheek that Sokka’d somehow missed under the stage lights earlier. “And that, while her methods could use some work, her results are...surprisingly sound.”

“Oh really?” Sokka knows he’s laying it on  _ thick, _ but Zuko doesn’t seem to mind.

(Eartha’s midway through her song, so he’s gonna have to wrap this up, shit.)

“So I gotta head back to the stage for the last act in a sec. Would you want to come back to mine for a drink or something after?” 

“Make it ‘or something,’ and you’ve got yourself a deal,” Zuko says, and downs the last of his drink, clearly shocked at his own boldness.

“I think I can do that,” Sokka replies, and hops off the stool. “Meet me in the dressing room in ten, baby?” 

He grabs his props, plants a sweet little kiss straight on Zuko’s dimple, and grins like a damn fool the whole way back.

* * *

Zuko’s still staring at his empty cup, feeling giddily half-melted, when Ty Lee bounces up next to him a few minutes later, popping his bubble.

“So! I see you and Sokka are getting along, huh? I  _ knew _ y’all would be cute together!”

“Yeah,” he replies, smiling softly. “I guess we are.”

The last act, a duo, has already started performing. The two performers are, unusually, seated across from each other, one in a bedazzled wheelchair and the other on a plain wooden stool. They’re both wearing cutoff jorts, binders, and denim vests, although the wheelchair user’s vest matches their chair and their sparkly cowboy boots, and the other performer’s is unadorned and sloppily cropped short. They’re barefoot, with a backwards baseball cap on, and are boisterously dancing in place to the lyrics, while their sparkly counterpart looks on in mock horror.

_ I BUST IN DUDES’ MOUTHS LIKE GUSHERS, MOTHERFUCKER, _ they actually shout, and Zuko snorts. “What even is this song?”

“It’s, like, classic SNL. Have you seriously never heard it before?”

“Somehow, no.” It’s pretty funny, though, and they’re both delivering very convincing performances. Soon enough, they’re joined by Wang, who barges onstage, doing an impassioned monologue.

_ My dick is scaaared of you, giiiiiirl,  _ he finishes, falling to his knees in front of the stool, as the performer pushes him away. They close the act by smashing their stool over their set partner’s head and yelling, “WHAAAAAT!” to thunderous applause.

“Thanks for coming, everybody!” Suki closes. “Remember, next month’s beach party – themed, and the month after is 80’s Night! Check out our website for sign-up info! We’d love to see your lovely...faces onstage!”

“You need a ride home?” Ty Lee asks him.

“I’ve got a date, actually,” he says, standing up to hug her goodbye. “I’ll see you around?”

“Ooooh!” she squeals, bouncing up to kiss him on the cheek. “Have fun! You’ll have to tell me  _ all  _ about it at brunch.”

* * *

Sokka’s basically vibrating with anticipation. They’ve just finished packing up their costume and pulling on some leggings when they hear a quiet, “Hey, Zuko here.”

“Wait, you forgot about these,” Zuko continues, smiling as he reaches out and pulls off one of Sokka’s pasties.

He looks suddenly...horrified? Sokka looks down at his chest, where nothing apocalyptic seems to have happened, and pulls off the other one, then looks back up at Zuko, who’s shaking his head and giggling nervously. 

“Right. Sorry. I, uh, kept mine? And for a second there -”

“ _ Spirits, _ ” Sokka snorts, meeting his eyes. “You didn’t tear my nips off, I promise. I’m just naturally smooth like a Ken doll.” Zuko laughs at that, and Sokka laughs at the mixture of amusement and open relief on Zuko’s face, and they just stand there together, laughing like idiots, until they finally manage to catch their breath again.

Sokka sighs contentedly, pulling on a loose tank top and enjoying the way Zuko’s eyes drag over his arms. “You ready to get out of here, sweet thing?” He reaches down and laces his fingers between Zuko’s, rubbing a thumb over the back of his hand.

“Yeah,” Zuko replies, smiling softly. “Let’s.”

Sokka barely manages to make it to the car before shoving him into the backseat and kissing him breathless.

(Zuko doesn’t lose his obstinate, satisfied grin until, hours later, he falls sound asleep in Sokka’s bed.)

* * *

“How are we feeling, Kyoshi Island?” Zuko asks from the stage, and is met with a wave of cheers and whistles.

(He’d been surprised to get a call from Suki the day after his Variety Night debut. ‘You threw off the vibes a bit, not gonna lie,’ she’d said, ‘but that was mostly because of the subject matter. You’re a natural in front of an audience. Have you ever thought about emceeing?’

That first night had gone well enough that she’d offered him a standing gig.)

“Good, good. Glad to hear it,” he continues. “Thanks, Eartha, for that rousing rendition of ‘Call Me.’ Looks like you and Jet have a busy night exploring the potential uses of prop phone cords ahead of you.” 

Jet flips him off from their spot in the front of the crowd, but they’re smirking.

(Figures.)

He glances down at the setlist through his mom’s old Issey Miyake shutter shades. “And now, for our closing act, it’s your favorite king of camp and mine -  _ WANG FIRE!” _

As his music, all triumphant horns and trilling marimba, starts up, Wang enters jauntily, clad unusually plainly in an open Hawaiian shirt and a speedo. He’s attached two fake coconuts to the front of a belt, slung suggestively low around his hips, and is carrying a large inflatable banana. He shimmies up to the front of the stage, working the crowd and miming positively  _ obscene _ things with the banana, before spinning on his heel to face Zuko.

_ So c’mon, c’mon, release me baby, _ he lip-syncs imploringly, holding the defiled banana to his chest.

Zuko, the portrait of mock reluctance, sets down his mic and setlist and slowly makes his way to the front of the stage.

(He hadn’t been asked outright if he’d join this set beforehand, but he knows his boyfriend well enough by now to have expected and even planned for it.

He just hadn’t realized how  _ itchy _ velcro could get until tonight.)

Wang grins brilliantly, tossing his prop out into the crowd and shaking his hips so hard that the coconuts clack together.

He’s positively  _ radiant _ like this. Zuko loves him like wildfire.

_ C’mon release me, baby! C’mon relieve me, darling! _ He mouths teasingly back at Wang, who raises his eyebrows scandalously and reaches to pull him forward by his tie, the same way he had the night they’d met.

(The two weeks he’d spent hunched over Ty Lee and Mai’s sewing machine are all worth it for the awestruck, delighted look that dawns over his boyfriend’s face when the suit starts to tear away.)

The crowd roars, and they  _ dance _ .

**Author's Note:**

> further character notes + visuals will be under the fic tag on my tumblr, [sifu-hotdamn.](https://sifu-hotdamn.tumblr.com/tagged/i'm-your-man)


End file.
